It is never boring interviewing. There is always some bit of craziness to amuse the astute observer and often craziness that doesn't require any sort of astute'ness on the part of the observer.
The school is on an island in the middle of the old Navy base. Windows are broken out of large warehouses, that allow shafts of sun to penetrate the dust stirred up by the ghosts of sailors or more likely gang members planning wars. Shutter Island is the name given to it by the shuttle driver who takes us from the hotel.
The foyer of an old inn is the headquarters the school and is under construction so the place appears closed with various hand written yellow signs pointing out that these doors are not to be used. The shuttle driver gallantly finds the correct door for his cargo of women and we all enter a storage room with tables and chairs lining the walls. Welcome.
We are settled into the conference room, fluorescent lights flicker menacingly, we've entered the asylum. The Dean of Admissions skips into the conference room in his enthusiasm and proclaims with large smile slashed into a weathered face that they interview "right" as opposed to other schools. Fifteen minutes later we are still listening to how the other schools do it wrong and they do it right. And then the hot shock of pain that comes from a rampaging UTI hits me. I just finished my antibiotics yesterday and its back already. I rock slightly and nearly cry, I forget to keep listening how they do it right while others do it wrong.
When he quiets, with a composed rush I enter into the room with the secretaries and ask if anyone has Tylenol, explaining to a room of women that I've just come down with a UTI. With pity they all reach into purses and desk drawers. The one nearest me pulls out Tylenol 800, anti-inflammatory and some sort of muscle relaxant, her prescription. "I choose you." I chug the pill with a handful of water from the sink, begging the Tylenol gods to give me quick relief.
The Dean of the SOM comes in to tell us about the school and answer questions. He has trouble getting to the point and so I sit in agony while he spends 15 minutes telling us that they are proud that they are focused on getting their students good at the patient history and exam. Hands fold contentedly on a flabby belly, "I am proud that we are focused on the medical history and exam." I start my second water bottle. "I am proud that we are focused on the medical history and exam." I stop listening.
My biggest question is always about the curriculum, is it PBL or lecture based? Is it systems based or structured like undergraduate classes? He says, "it's hard to quantify but we are changing it every year... I am proud that we are focused on the medical history and exam."
Do they use student input in these curriculum changes? "We value student input..." the students and professors are close... they are focused on getting their students good at the patient history/exam. After ten more minutes of hearing about patient history and exam, he pauses for a breath and I try to condense 10 minutes into a sentence, "The student's input is informal based on close relationships with the professors?" No, he says emphatically, it is formal too... "Excellent," I wait to hear what formal procedures they have in place, he doesn't say another thing about it but talks about the patient history and exams. I feel sincerely amazed.
We wander around campus for the tour with a first year student who at 6'7" ducks instinctively at every doorway, even while walking backward and talking. "And here is the exam room...*bob* the lab *bob* the cadavers *bob*. No I wasn't a basketball player *bob*." The hazards of being tall.
The campus is old but has character. I like it. I like old buildings that peel paint into ratty hairdos and sneeze the dust of history.
It's a group interview, three interviewers, five students. It's my first of this most dreaded form of interview. They ask me difficult questions like, "What, besides what you have in your application, brought you here today." I smile calmly, while rushing about in my head like a rat being chased around a bucket with a stick, looking for something interesting to say. I coolly mention, "My application is incredibly thorough." This makes my cohorts laugh for some reason, it wasn't a joke or sarcasm it was just the truth. Then I ask for some time attempt to pull an adult rabbit out of my tiny suit pocket. I find, to my astonishment, I don't have a rabbit in my pocket to produce with trumpets and dancing girls so I recap what my application has already said. They are testing my ability to handle stress. I'm starved, limp from a muscle relaxant and my abdomen still feels on fire; it wasn't slick.
We get lunch and it gets interesting. It starts over a sandwich, tuna or turkey. The slightly pudgy male student insists on my choosing first. I try to let him know it doesn't matter and he states, "I'm afraid you will beat me up if you want the one I choose; you could, you know." I look confused at him and the table spontaneously erupts into everyone talking at once.
"We don't have a chance."
"She's been everywhere in the world."
"She could beat me up."
"I was waiting for her watch alarm to sound, for her to nod at us, pull on a jet pack and crash out a window on some important mission."
"What hasn't she done?"
"If she didn't get into other schools its because she intimidates the interviewers, they felt ignorant and inexperienced!"
and the ultimate,
"she is really intimidating," and "she's incredibly intense."
I look at the whole table my mouth hanging stupidly open not quite sure how to take what I'm hearing, do they feel they are complimenting me or insulting me. I haven't said anything to the people about my life but somehow the little I've said in the interview, and I REALLY toned it down to keep from being intimidating, and what the interviewers have said has spread like the E bola virus around the room.
I finally shut my mouth and took it with a smile but I realize what the trouble might have been in my other interviews. I don't mean to be intimidating and intense but obviously I can be without trying. I focus on the person talking, razor sharp, perhaps much like a cat looking at its next meal.
I'm confident in my abilities, my support group and my work ethic otherwise I wouldn't have bet my future on a 3% chance. I laugh and joke with the kids around me trying to get everyone to relax and enjoy themselves but taken with the other I now suspect I've come across as cocky. Cocky?!?!
And so I wonder if I had appeared less confident, worn a more feminine shirt, if I had trotted out my frightened side, if I appeared helpless maybe I would have more acceptances and less wait lists. Would it be different if I were male where it seems cocky confidence is encouraged? I don't know, I'll never know, but I wonder. Then again, I am always genuine in the interview and if they don't like it I shouldn't be there... so... Admittedly I've done well, considerably better than average, considerably better than I dared to even hope, ever. To my detriment I want perfection, my own perfection.
